


Feeding on my Flame

by babyboytimmy



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: A is 18 T is 16, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Summer Camp, This takes place in the 90s, typical teenage angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-16 06:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyboytimmy/pseuds/babyboytimmy
Summary: After being sent away by his father for the upcoming season Armie meets an Omega at Mayer's Summer camp.





	1. Changes

His scuffed Converses tap a repetitive motion against his dad’s dash, sighing with the wind and the sad beat of Patsy Cline. His father’s got a heart for country, always has.

 

Business in the outskirts of where they live is running low, so while his dad was in town just some mere, blurred Saturday’s ago he’d found out about the Mayer’s summer camp much to Armie’s dismay.

 

Patsy hums on the stereo, tired and mournful, a sad common tale of a lover that went wrong.

 

“This sucks,” he scoffs, can’t help himself even though he should be better than this. He should let it go, not let his dad know how much he’d won.

 

He feels his gaze and turns away from it.

 

“Stop your bitching son and be grateful I can even afford to send your ass off,” his father grumbles, throat rough from years of chosen abuse. He grunts, switching the stiff gear into place.

 

Armie sighs in agitation, annoyance and even with the bitter taste of despise. He damn wishes his ma still was with him.

 

Armie wishes for a lot of things.

 

His dad catches his expression, his stern gaze turning into a pity laced grimace.

 

“Lighten up son, B'sides, you’ll get enough young tail down there from the girls in their little short shorts you’ll be sending me a thank you letter later on,” he chides, trying to make him feel more accepting of the inevitable situation soon to be bestowed on him, but it doesn’t aid his discomfort in the slightest.

 

He feels forced and defeated, knowing his dad all too well. He’d never let him live this one down had he not gone. Armie can hear it now, the tell tale expected alcohol driven words of “your mother always said you wouldn’t be shit,” already ringing in his ears.

 

 

/

 

 

When they pull up Armie’s half asleep, it’s well over 8 pm and the sky is covered completely in a dusky orange, the sun swallowed whole by the horizon far into the distance.

 

His knees feel stiff and his shoulder pops from the awkward way he’d been lying on it.

 

It doesn’t surprise him at all when his sleepy, unfocused vision falls on three empty beer cans by his feet, they are from today as they hadn’t been there before. At least God hadn’t chosen him today, so he’ll count his blessings.

 

“I’m gonna go let em know you’re here, so son, get your shit ready.”

 

His father wears a tired grin, Armie can’t tell if it’s for him or not. He’s probably just happy Armie’s going to gone for the Summer.

 

He sighs, fingers trembling from the sudden cold that wafts through the open truck door.

 

He jumps out, pulling his singular over sized old luggage bag with him.

 

“Time to make you proud, ma,” Armie tells the quiet air around him.

 

The crickets chirp and his heartbeat goes gentle.

 

Time to make the best of it.


	2. New Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie attempts to adjust.

Settling in was difficult, the cabin leader barely gave him a once over before he was told his cabin number. The kid he’ll be sharing a room with was bland and impassive, barely looked up from under his sweaty blond hair to see him brush past. Armie bets he’s in the same boat, parents shipped him off to save their trouble.

 

 

/

 

 

He didn't sleep well.

 

Armie scratches his nose, an awkward tic he’s not too fond of. He leans back, settling his spine into the tired, stiff mattress.

 

“You like it here?” he asks in casual nonchalance.

 

Armie kind of expects an answer, he doesn’t get one however. The kid just yawns and shuts his worn note book.

 

“Great,” Armie sighs, the itch inside him scratching.

 

The kid’s shoes stink of sweat, reeking up the room. There’s pale pink paint peeling off the ceiling and Armie bets any day now he’ll catch a piece in his eyeball.

 

“ _Fuck_ , why is it so goddamn hot in here?” he puffs, feeling the stench of beta and the late Spring heat bogging up his airways.

 

He rolls his head to the side, furrowing his brows deeply at the kids lack of response.

 

 _Weird_ , he thinks.

 

“You’re really not going to say anything?”

 

The boy opens his eyes, watches him for a few seconds more, then, ultimately shuts them.

 

Armie exhales heavily, this is going to be a long Summer.

 

 

/

 

 

“Attention!” the cabin leader screeches over a megaphone.

 

Armie rubs his eyes, it’s only six pm and he’s beat. He stayed in bed all day with boredom devouring his brain whole. He couldn’t recite how many times he lied still, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks on repeat.

 

“I will be your main cabin leader, my name is Ms. Huska, but you will refer to me as Ms. H,” she orders, clasping her dexterous fingers together. She looked at the crowd of them almost menacingly.

 

“And each and every single one of you will do as I say, when I say. There will be set schedules for certain days and events, are we clear?”

 

Chatter lights up, her voice booms again through the mic, “that’s the spirit.”

 

Armie side eyes a blonde chick being quiet, twirling her curled strands through her finger, gazing at him with heavy mascara plump lashes.

 

“Hey there,” she grins, pushing a girl with her hip to move towards Armie’s side. The geeky looking chick she shoved sends a snarl their way like Armie’s also to blame.

 

“Hey,” he sighs and fiddles with his belt buckle, he definitely feels the ache of a migraine coming on.

 

She bumps his arm with hers, smiling big and wide, “You’re new.”

 

“Isn’t everyone?” he chides easily. He doesn’t know why but he’d always found it awfully easy to talk to chicks. He wonders where’s the spark, the flutter of want he’s supposed to feel.

 

Her smile fades, like he didn’t get her.

 

“I’ve been coming here every Summer since I was eight, my mom even donated our old boat for the fishing competition.”

 

He grimaces, “they’ve got a fishing competition?”

 

She jerks her head towards the cabin leader, “well, they did, it was optional, but they stopped it years ago.”

 

He squints, the falling sun beaming in his eyes.

 

“How come?”

 

She lets out a loud bubbly laugh like he was being insane, “you haven’t heard?”

 

Going down to a whisper like she’s about to unveil a deep dark secret, “it’s almost like an urban legend around here, but it’s about Ms. H.”

 

It’s corny, but Armie finds his mouth go dry, he’s so easily invested in gossip.

 

“So what, you’re not going to tell me?”

 

The leader’s megaphone booms, interrupting his thought process.

 

“Back to your cabins until further notice!”

 

 

/

 

 

He doesn’t sleep that night.

 

His yellowed baseball makes a soft thud every time it falls back in his awaiting grasp.

 

The mute kid isn’t silent while sleeping, he snores deep and raspy. It’s utterly annoying.

 

None of the campers appeared interesting to him. They’d been allowed to eat PB & J's in their cabins, the leader sparing them a day to settle in.

 

Finally, when dawn begins to hit the sky at 4:51 he shuts his eyes.

 

 

/

 

 

They are forced together for breakfast at 7:00 in the morning. Armie swears his eyes have weights for lashes.

 

There are roughly thirty kids here, all sat in vintage benches that are begging for a new coat of paint.

 

“Fuck, I’m tired,” he says, voice muffled by the cheap oatmeal. He glances momentarily at his roommate.

 

The blond keeps his head down.

 

“Oh that’s right, you don’t talk,” he says to himself.

 

_Just great_

 

Pissed is an understatement, he wants to leave this shit hole and never return. Curse his father for even thinking of sending him here.

 

Before he can think, even blink another millisecond, a bony limb knocks into his back.

 

The intruder on Armie’s space yelps “shit!” meshing perfectly with Armie’s angry “what the fuck?”

 

“I-I'm sorry,” the boy quickly apologies.

 

Armie goes deathly still. Waves of euphoric scent blooming ripe in his airways.

 

**_Omega_ **

 

Just as he turns the boy steadies himself, cheeks red and messy hair all in his face.

 

“It’s okay,” Armie says then, mouth going dry.

 

The frail, delicate slope of the boys fingers come up to card thick nestles of bangs from his face, unveiling a face that’s a little too perfect.

 

Red, deeply saturated lips exhale a soft sigh of relief, “okay,” he whispers, his aqua irises flittering across Armie’s features in a nervous manner.

 

He looks deeply relieved that Armie’s not mad, it makes Armie’s gut feel weird.

 

His roommate gives him an indistinguishable look before looking off towards the lake before them.

 

 _Just great_ , he thinks again like deja vu, a sour taste rising in his chest this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💕 I hope you're enjoying


	3. If the moon let's us sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie has things to figure out.

He wakes up flustered, a damp mess of moisture clinging to his furred pits and the dip between his stomach muscles.

 

The moon is calling at him. Feels his skin feel too tight, feels restlessness bubbling deep within.

 

That omega earlier was titillating to say the least. Armies only had gotten quick glances at him but it had been enough to swarm his conscience unknowingly.

 

There’s a quivering burn in his limbs. He’d imagine it as deep, dark, _powerful_.

 

It’s haunted his thoughts since he’d first discovered porn years ago when he’d felt much like a young boy instead of a man.

 

He’s been feeling in between lately, both a teen and an adult. There’s a lot he knows and there’s miles of things he’s lusting to discover.

 

He’d never admit it out loud, wouldn’t tell even a mouse, as though his ego could even fear a tiny little creature to flitter out, let his secret get away.

 

He’s a _**virgin**_.

 

His father didn’t know of it. A girlfriend Armie had last year was convincing enough. Sarah, a beta, she was decently pretty. The norm of a conventionally pretty girl, thin, good skin, brunette and wide eyed. He’d liked her at the time. She was temporary fun, filled up his time and was someone soft to hang around with.

 

They tried it, once. She sucked him down sloppily before she was rising to her feet with a shy but purpose filled look in her eyes.

 

“I think we should try this,” she smiled, lips painted pink.

 

Her mom opened the door and that was the last of them.

 

At least Armies never had to let her witness his flagging penis, even the embarrassment of her mother’s horribly shocked expression was worth the save.

 

Another wave of want rouses within him. Stronger and stronger.

 

Pale limbs and green eyes flood his head. The rest is blurred, pink around the edges.

 

He turns away from the moon’s gaze, quieting its calls.

 

 _ **Hiding**_ will do for now.

 

 

/

 

 

They are ordered out of their rooms at noon.

 

“Listen up Students! We are a camp of honesty and quality, and with that requires rules you campers will have to abide by.”

 

Ms. H clears her throat, her hair is thin and long, pulled back in a tight ponytail that no doubt is guilty for her receded hairline. Armie’s never seen her even show an ounce of happiness. Her trademark seems to be a stern scowl.

 

Not that he’d expected anything different from the shabby camp.

 

“As a Summer camp with respect and structure we prefer betas and alphas to reside at our camp, however discrimination laws tell us different. So their may be a couple omegas among your peers and some still yet to present. You all will show equal respect to every single one of your peers. Any instances of heat cycles or ruts will be notified to your parents. Any findings of sexual activity found amongst the campers will be dealt with with serious action and you will be omitted from the camp.”

 

Quiet, muffled giggles and whispers ignite as she finishes her rant.

 

“ _Excuse_ me!” she yells, the mic booming with her pitch.

 

Silence falls among them. Armie rolls his eyes, he knows the disdain for Ms. H is mutual among them all.

 

“Are we clear?”

 

“Yes,” they all say in unison, lackluster tones circulating the campers.

 

 

/

 

 

It’s quite serene out. Sixty degree weather and soft, ocre glowing clouds bright and bulbous in the sky.

 

His roommate is sat beside him. They’re mutually eating their turkey sandwiches in silence.

 

Armie doesn’t mind the silence from him right now, if anything he could use it to clear his thoughts.

 

“Have you ever liked somebody?” he asks, straining his eyes to squint as the sun reappears behind the clouds.

 

“And I don’t mean like as in that kiddy bullshit. Like you actually thought you could love them?”

 

The wind brushes through his hair, slow, soothing.

 

A cloud moving above him looks like a broom, he thinks.

 

He feels two taps on his shoulder.

 

“What?” he smiles crookedly, pushing himself up on his elbows to look towards his roommate.

 

“Does that mean yes?”

 

The boy looks down, cheeks turning a shade of plum and his long straggly mop of bangs sticking to his cheek.

 

Another two taps.

 

 

/

 

 

Soon enough he learns the kids name.

 

They go by a tapping system, one tap for no, two taps for yes.

 

It’s the next day, they’d barely slept as they stayed up the majority of the night. Armie taking up the entirety of the silence besides Drew's taps against the thin drywall.

 

He’d told him about going to amusement parks with his ma when he’d been a child, told him all about the turmoil his dad created till his mouth went dry and his eyes to heavy too continue.

 

It’s kind of like being a kid and having an imaginary friend, at least Drew is actually listening.

 

He’s not the best roommate Armie could ask for. He’s already tired of the kid leaving his shoes halfway in front of door and leaving his dirty socks in the little floor space between their single beds. All in all Armie can’t complain, at least he no longer feels the urge to chuck his baseball at his head over his obnoxious snoring.

 

 

/

 

 

“Campers, we have a surprise for you all. It wasn’t written in the brochures but it’s even better than you could imagine!” Mrs. Jenny promises over the mic.

 

She’s the nicer of the two camp leaders, goes by her first name because it’s simpler for the students to pronounce. She’s young too, early twenties and already happily married. Armie easily prefers her presence over Ms. H, she solidified his admiration for her earlier in the day, she’d gotten him a plain bag of chips from the front office because she overheard him saying he had a migraine coming on.

 

Bridgette, the blonde with a crush on him raises her hand obnoxiously, waving it and moving up and down on her heels.

 

“Yes, Bridgette?” Ms. Jenny inquires.

 

“Tell us!” she laughs, flipping her hair and grinning big when she notices Armie staring. He swallows the lump in his throat. He’ll have to deal with her unrelentless affection the entire summer.

 

As a tall ginger kid moves to the side he sees a flash of brunette curls he’d been keeping an eye out for all day.

 

It is.

 

The omega is there. Armie almost feels like he’d made him up inside a filthy, too beautifully obscene part of his brain. A part that’s meant to be hidden. Too good to be true.

 

But he’s real and he’s there, and, _fuck_.

 

Armie can wrap his head around it. He needs a name to place on that enigma of a boy.

 

He fake coughs, elbows Drew in the side to rear his attention.

 

“You know him?” he asks, wide eyed and cocking his head towards the boy.

 

One tap. Armie sighs. It’s not like he’d expect any different answer.

 

The boy catches Armies eye, Armie darts his gaze away. Feeling scolded and burnt for even imagining the depraved thoughts gnawing inside his head of all the sickeningly hot things he craves to do with him and to him.

 

His dad would rage hell if he could read Armie’s mind for even a second.

 

"Armie!" A high pitched voice calls, breaking his concentration.

 

"Yeah?" He smiles politely, even if he lacks interest in the chick he's not a dick.

 

"Ms. Jenny said we are all going to be living in tents for the Summer. I wish boys and girls could be paired together though," she pouts, looking away at the lake with flushed cheeks.

 

That could be interesting or absolutely dreadful.

 

"Tents huh?" 

 

 

/

 

 

Later that night, Armie does the unspeakable. He praises the gods internally for putting a nasally throat on Drew to constantly confirm his lack of conscienceness.

 

Loud snores and soft, slick smack of skin circulate the room.

 

His cock is unbearably hot, sticky and _**wet**_ with an obscene amount of precum. His mind is a godsend. Pretty pictures of pale legs spread out fill the blackness behind his eyelids.

 

He pushes into his hand aggressively, hips fucking up into his tight grip, if he clenched his eyes shut tightly enough he can imagine it’s an omega wet hole.

 

He cums embarrasingly fast, creamy slick spreading out in his palm, starting a sleek thin drip down his wrist.

 

“Fuck,” he groans contently. Sated and tired, he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are enjoying!!! Here's a larger chapter. Thank you all for reading 💖💖💖💖


	4. The moon keeps calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage hormones will be the end of him.

They had to set up their tents completely old style and Armie’s hands are tired. He craves the sweet, musky white smoke of a joint right about now.

 

He misses his old friends, Billy and Mike before they took off further north, their mother found a new man.

 

Those were some of his best days. His most longing experiences. No stress just living without even realizing. Back when he could enjoy a moment in the current time, then cherish it later. Now he cherishes all the good moments when they’re happening because it’s scarce these days.

 

He feels utterly lonely.

 

His dad’s not much help with it. Armie had tried to open up to him before when he was near belligerent, felt almost as though his dad was sluggishly drunk enough, that maybe he wouldn’t judge.

 

Without a doubt he’d learn the results would always be disheartening.

 

_“Why ya gotta be such a pussy.”_

 

He’d sneer it like Armie had no right to miss his mother. Just because his dad hated her didn’t mean Armie would.

 

 

/

 

 

“You think we put the anchors in deep enough?” Armie thinks later on, glancing at Drew while he takes a bite of the surprisingly delicious barbecue chicken Ms. Jenny’s husband whipped up on the little rusted grill. Moisture and moss might’ve taken a beaten to the old thing but it cooked up just fine.

 

Armie watches him, he taps twice against the table, creating a dull sound. There’s an unfamiliar benevolent smile twitching onto his face. He finally showered, Armie notices, his blond hair airy with the wind for once instead of mushed to his cheek.

 

Armie feels for the kid, truly. He knows him as much as you can know someone who doesn’t talk. However's he’s naturally in touch with common sense and can easily identify that this kid comes from a rough home like him.

 

Then he feels it.

 

 ** _Smells_** it, the simmering essence of an omega. The omega he'd had smelt in close proximity only once before.

 

His spine goes rigid. His heart beat spikes and he hopes the omega can’t smell it.

 

He’s just _so_ close.

 

“Can I sit here?” the omega speaks, that voice, like drenched in the most sugary golden honey there is, soft, raspy, beautiful.

 

Armie’s alpha within howls and if it was night time he’d probably have to walk off for some fresh air. The moon makes his beast stronger, his instincts greatly enhanced. His needs prevalent.

 

“May you,” Armie corrects, pulling it off in a bland voice so the omega doesn’t immediately recognize how on his toes Armie has been since he saw him.

 

The omega sighs audibly.

 

Armie finally gets to really look at him.

 

The pale sunlight the boy is standing in is blinding against his skin. His face is like an articulated creation of a fae novel. He’s everything Armie imagined but even more somehow. Maybe Armie missed the exact deep shade of his lips or the obscure multi color of his eyes but fuck. He’s everything.

 

“May I?” the omega repeats, swaying his body in an petulant motion and Armie really, really wants to pull all of his pretty limbs onto his lap, maybe see if that long expanse of neck is as delicious as it looks.

 

“Why not?” Armie shrugs, smiling proudly and patting a seat right besides him. He tries to make it casual but he really hopes to get a closer look, bury himself in that omega scent till he’s drunk with it.

 

The omega smiles softly, placing his plate down carefully before sitting.

 

“The food was banging, huh Drew?” Armie chirps, man spreading till his leg knocks the omegas.

 

The boy looks between them, Drew knocks twice on the wood.

 

“Thought so.”

 

Armie notes the omega’s perturbed expression.

 

“He’s mute,” Armie explains nonchalantly, hoping that Drew appreciates the normalcy of how Armie presented it.

 

The omega smiles toothily, “mute? That’s cool, besides, most things are better left unsaid,” the boy jokes light hearted. It’s kind and not mocking at all.

 

Drew’s cheeks grow red at the attention, he collects his napkin on his plate and stands hurriedly.

 

The omega sends Armie a quizzical look, his thick lashes naturally down casted like a does.

 

“He’s shy,” he explains to him quietly, watching Drew as he strides uphill.

 

“How old is he?” the omega asks curiously, biting into the grilled meat. The barbecue orange-brown hue staining his thin fingers.

 

“Fourteen.”

 

The omega nods, humming contently, “god, this food is _good_.”

 

Armie studies the boy’s elation with his eyes, pink tongue lapping at the sauce. He licks it so tenderly, not wasting a drop of it, eyes closed and thoroughly erotic enough Armie can’t believe he’s not imagining it.

 

Jesus Christ.

 

“ _What_?” the boy stops, his gaze wide with an ounce of shock in there, he glances down at Armie’s crotch and it’s then Armie realizes how gone he is for this omega. He’s half hard by watching him eat chicken meat for crying out loud. He’s beyond pathetic to the point he’d be overly willing to do laps around the lake all day if that guaranteed a taste of this boy’s most private areas.

 

The thought that the omega may be aware of Armie’s excitement is both terrifying and arousing somehow.

 

These teenage hormones will do him under.

 

He clears his throat. “I’ve never seen someone eat meat like that.”

 

“I’m a picky eater,” the boy says, his tone evidently devious. The glint is his eye is too.

 

Armie is the definition of screwed.

 

“What’s your name omega?”

 

The boy’s face morphs into shock, then defeat.

 

“You- you-“

 

“What?”

 

The omega curls in on himself, cheeks red and a deep frown on his face.

 

“What’s wrong? Armie asks, internally cursing himself for calling him an omega. Maybe the boy thinks Armie sees him as below or something.

 

“How do you know that?” the boy states, voice shaky and nervous.

 

“Well, I uh-“ he clears his throat awkwardly and forced. “I can smell it.”

 

The boy buries his face in his hands.

 

“ ** _Shit_** ,” he hisses to himself.

 

Armie should of held his tongue.

 

The boy looks up at him finally, glossy eyes and his nose reddened, like he’s on the verge of tears.

 

“I haven’t presented yet but you’re an alpha and alphas can scent the best and- that means-“

 

“Your heats coming,” Armie finalizes, finishing the sentence for him, the thought finally dawning on him.

 

 

/

 

 

It’s the last night he’ll spend in the cabin, the rest of his Summer will be spent in the outside heat and cool nights, sleeping beside a roommate in those dingy but capable orange tents.

 

Drew’s been sleeping for hours, Armie’s been feeling like he wants to climb the walls.

 

The thin sheet the camp acquired them is useless, too hot and scratchy on his legs. He’d long kicked it off hours ago but agitation is biting his every pore.

 

His rut is nearing, it has to be. There’s something so inviting in the air.

 

If he’d spend even one night in the same room as that beautiful omega he’d have his way with him.

 

He jerks off three times before he can even get the slightest amount of peace to fall in sleep.

 

The moon keeps **_calling_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armie's in trouble 😉 this omega has him wrapped around his finger 💞 what do you think? I really appreciate feedback it makes me want to update quicker and it allows me to know what the readers like! So any comments are greatly appreciated 💖


	5. Pulling at every step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie's rut is closing in on him.

The sun beams in his eyes when the bullhorn sounds.

 

“Fuck,” he groans, limbs popping as he stretches with a drawn out yawn.

 

Drew raises an eyebrow at him, he’s leaning down on his elbow, sketching in his notebook. He’s excruciatingly lucky, Armie hasn’t seen the grace of getting a full ten hours of sleep since before his days here.

 

“You went to bed so early dude,” he points out, rubbing his own sleep puffy eyes. Armie bunches his blanket up on his waist, saving Drew from spotting the awkward morning wood he’s sporting below the thin blanket.

 

He had a dream last night that all his teeth fell out. It was unnerving to say the least. It used to occur to him as a child. It was a common nightmare his doctor once said. It’s usually fueled by anxiety or lack of sleep, his ma said she believed that it was a sign of a big change coming as she was a very spiritual woman.

 

She’d been right, she was gone a week later.

 

He hopes for another change. A good one this time.

 

Thankfully, after assessing to his nightmare his boner softens, though he still really needs to pee.

 

“I’m gonna go hit the john,” he states quickly, pulling up his jeans. He grabs Drew’s balled up hoodie of the floor and pegs it at his chest, “get dressed, your crush Ms. H is waiting,” he teases. Armie shuts the door before Drew’s shoe hits it, he grins to himself, smug.

 

 

/

 

 

“Students! **_Hush_**!” Ms. H blurts on the bullhorn. Her pitch is worse than nails on a chalkboard, too high and straining on his ear drums for this time of the morning.

 

The omega is sat across the way from his, three benches down but just close enough that Armie’s on edge. There’s about five other alphas at this camp, and it’s terribly embarrassing to admit to himself he counted them out of jealousy but fuck if that ain’t the only reason. The mere thought that any of them gets their eyes and hands on that ripe omega is killing him.

 

He sends him a couple looks, fails at being inconspicuous when the omega catches his eyes.

 

He mentally curses himself. The tall alpha sat beside the omega isn’t doing anything but running Armie’s nerve system wild.

 

He’s tall, not Armie tall but big enough that the omega could consider him alpha worthy. Armie hates thinking about it, barely fucking knows him but it’s making his blood boil.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“ _ **What**_?” he snaps, eyes crazed as he settles them on Bridgette.

 

“Woah-“ she laughs, wide eyed and caught off guard at his response.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he sighs, chest deflating with the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “I barely got any sleep last night,” he explains, scratching the back of his neck shyly.

 

Her smile softens to relief, “aw, that’s okay. I understand.” She teases her curl by twisting it, “you know,” she smirks, a glint of desire in her blues eyes, “I could really help you sleep.”

 

She touches his arm just in time for Ms. H to holler forcefully through the mic, “Excuse me! I don’t think I have all of your attention so let’s try this again!”

 

Armie exhales heavily and rolls his eyes.

 

“You all will be residing with your current roommate during your summer stay in the tents. It’s come to my attention that we have two omegas on campus and as well as a newly presented one. Omegas will each get their own tent and by no means will they have a roommate for any circumstances. Heats will have to be waited out, if you cannot follow instructions given to you by the nurse you will be omitted from the camp.”

 

She clears her throat, “Are we clear?” She booms, eyeing them fiercely. Her alpha stare doesn’t intimidate him any. He’s dealt with much worse.

 

He looks to Drew who is currently picking at a withered tear in his sleeve.

 

“Guess it’s me and you all Summer,” Armie grins. He’s extremely glad he’s not switching with anyone else. Not that he didn’t wish on a dandelion for the omega to be his roommate, but he’d known realistically pairing an omega and alpha together was one in a million.

 

 

/

 

 

“You think so?” Armie grins a tad ashamedly. He’s such a sucker.

 

Two taps and a roll of Drew’s eyes later, Armie rolls onto his stomach.

 

“But what if he’s scared? What should I do if he doesn’t trust me? Most omegas think alphas only want one thing, and it’s not that I don’t want that but like, I want to get to know him atleast.”

 

Drew picks up his wrinkled notepad, scribbles real fast, quick lettering before he tosses it towards Armie.

 

_**Make him trust you then** _

 

Armie wrinkles his brows tightly, thinking hard as he looks up at the ceiling of their shared orange tent.

 

It’s a warm, pleasant day. Armie’s glad they aren’t yet in the insanely hot weather soon to arrive. The thin mattress they share has old springs, it digs into Armie’s back when he lies a curtain way. He doesn’t mind the tent overall, the only downside is the added distance from the communal bathrooms but at least he’s now at a safe range to be able to piss in the woods if he wants to. No more Ms. H catching him pissing in the bushes and scolding him.

 

It’s much more like freedom now than prison. So much more privacy, he wonders all the things he can do now. He’d never been able to sneak out back in the cabins even if he wanted to. They had motion detectors hooked to an alarm and spotlight. Armie’s not at all shocked at the reasons they put them in. Too many kids taking off and getting lost in these back roads and never ending trees.

 

The privacy part of it spins deviously in his mind. Oh all the wondrous things he could do with privacy and night shade.

 

 _Make him trust you_ , his brain reminds him.

 

 

/

 

 

  
It’s **10:58** his cheap bronze casio wrist watch reads bright in the blackness of their tent. He didn’t bother flicking on the plastic battery operated candles they were given. He feels restless. Irritated. On fire.

 

Drew snores and every breath fires up his gut further in a peevish manner but he can’t help it. His inner beast is struggling to contain itself, it’s been lunging at the cage holding it back.

 

He’d fuck his hand but it brings no relief. There’s such a sweetness in the air….

 

His watch glows **11:00** and he crawls out of bed, unzips the lining of the door and makes his way out into the darkness.

 

The night air is rigorously fresh. His fuming quieted. He feels less caged up without the stuffy little confines of the tent surrounding him.

 

The tents are just about twenty feet uphill from the water. The lake is the only thing glowing. The yellow outdoor lights on the cabins and main offices are just a smudge in the corner of his eye. The water is a gentle, tender stream. Moonlight kisses the surface, when Armie dips a toe in one spot it swirls to blackness from the shade created by his lumberjack tall frame.

 

Breathing out here is reminiscent of all the nights he used to party out by the lake back home. Nights when Armie had drank too many beers to see straight and smoked too many blunts to even know who he was buying from.

 

Then it hits him.

 

Again and again. In waves with the breeze.

 

_**Sweet.** _

 

_**Euphoric.** _

 

_**Waiting.** _

 

He follows it. His head telling him yes but his gut telling him no.

 

He really shouldn’t. It’s rude. _Invasive_ even.

 

Tent after tent.

 

Some lit up, soft chatter and whispers blending with the wind as he brushes past. Some dead silent, lightless and somber feeling, the boring kids who actually follow the requested sleep schedule.

 

Then, the tent. Noiseless but lit up, it has to be him.

 

The scent is at its peak here.

 

Flowery, like rose water and lavender.

 

He taps on the tent.

 

Soon, seconds after he hears a rustling, the zipper immediately coming undone.

 

“Hello?” the omega inquires unsurely.

 

Two green eyes peek out, Armie peeks in.

 

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk to strangers?” Armie jokes, smug with a raise of his brows to match.

 

The omega rolls his eyes, a playful but quizzical look on his face.

 

“What do you want? I was just about to go to bed,” the boy pointed out innocently.

 

“Well too bad, you’re staying up with me,” Armie says cockily, climbing in past the boy.

 

 

/

 

 

The omega, Timothée, was pressed into his side. A glorious smile on his face as he hummed softly, eyes closed as he listened intently.

 

The last few words of the melancholic song fades out, Armie sits back, “you really like them huh?”

 

Timothée let’s out a bubbly laugh. It’s earth shakingly genuine and Armie’s pulse sputter at the sound.

 

“They are my favorite band. I mean, there’s just a thing about Kurt that is so relatable,” he says simply, settling on his side. His curls bounce on his baby like cheeks.

 

Armie snorts, “oh yeah, rhyming mosquito and albino is really relatable,” he teases. All play and no bite.

 

Timothée shoves his arm in a mock offended gesture, a smile staying on his lips.

 

“Hey, I didn’t even say I liked that song.”

 

“But everyone likes that song.”

 

Timothée nods, “true, but it’s incredibly overrated and half the reason people even know who they are,” he points out truthfully.

 

Armie knows that ain’t no lie. Half his damn school made out to that song at last year’s school dance.

 

He’s surprised about the amount of composure he’s maintained throughout the last fifteen minutes. The scent of an omega so close, so near to heat is terribly straining on his willpower.

 

Timothée leans over, back turned to him as he searches around for something. He fumbles with a CD case, opening it and switching it with the other CD that was placed in his discman player.

 

"This is Kurt’s girlfriend’s band, Hole, they’re pretty good,” Timothée tells him absentmindedly, still bent as he clicks the case close.

 

All Armie can focus is on the curve of his ass in his pajama sweats and the mouth watering slice of skin looking ivory like porcelain. Perfect with a singular freckle on his hip.

 

He wonders how those bony lithe hips would feel pressed against his hands, sat on his lap, moving up and down and-

 

He’s hard. Rock hard, just like that. Fucking teenage hormones.

 

Flight. Leave. _**Go**_ , his mind screams.

 

“I- uh, I’ll listen tomorrow, Timmy. I just got really tired and I think I’m going to head out,” he says hurriedly, getting on his knees and passing the boy before he can get an eye on the tent in his pants.

 

The second he gets the zipper open he runs, takes off in a sprint away from the tents. Towards the woods. Deep into the woods.

 

The moon pulls at his skin and watches every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut coming sooooon. I hope this chapter had you on your toes like Armie has been 😉


	6. I seek you out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie's rut is calling his name...

He wakes up with a sore neck and a headache.

 

The sun is too painfully bright. The orange of the tent is a furious red glow with the golden beams burning its rays upon them.

 

It’s _stuffy_ as hell.

 

“Jesus christ,” he snarls, teeth bared with a panting grimace. He shifts, sitting up, his pits are sweat slick and heady with body odor. Armie really, really needs to take a shower.

 

Drew stirs beside him, sleepy eyed and drool on his lip. Armie can’t believe him. Both Armie’s blanket and his own is curled up on him and somehow he’s not boiling like Armie is?

 

“What the fuck?” he hisses to himself, anxiety settling in the pit of his gut. He hasn’t been too close to many and Drew’s not sick so that means…

 

His ruts coming tonight.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grits out, tugging up his shorts while awkwardly bending down because the roof of the tent is too low.

 

He yanks the zipper aggressively, feeling all too vicious that he doesn’t fully trust himself.

 

He needs to take a cold shower, cool off and forget about all the troubling things that come with being a hormone fueled teenager.

 

The sky is too bright on his eyes so he keeps his head down, eyes maintaining on the ground. His bare feet hit some crab grass and it doesn’t sting like it usually would, it actually feels good, _grounding_.

 

There’s not many people awake, just some girls lingering down the stream of the lake, on the rocks painting their nails.

 

Thankfully to his advantage the bathroom and shower building is always unlocked at all hours.

 

The meadow of grass is soft, green and getting tall. Dandelions are widespread, tall and thick along the whole expanse of yard. The cicadas hum, but they’re louder at night. They prefer to sing their song in the moonlight. Armie knows why, oh how bewitching the moon can be.

 

About five mere feet from the log paneled bathroom, he hears the most sacred sound.

 

Like a blest call of a dove, a divine, near immaculate sound emits from the tile walls that are open to the outdoor air with a single door stopper.

 

It’s like a witches chant, but Armie knows his feet move on their own.

 

He goes to the voice, slowly, careful to not disturb the concentrated tune he’s in.

 

“Eyes on fire…” the walls echo. Like a mantra of a fairy’s wit and poetic phrases that Armie doesn’t quite understand, but feels he could.

 

“Just in time… in the right place…”

 

Armie stills as he gets close to the entrance of the showers. The voice now clear like crystals.

 

“Steadily emerging with grace..”

 

Armie accidentally kicks a bar of soap left stranded all small and defeated on the floor, it goes skidding noisily across the cheap brown tiles.

 

 ** _Shit_**.

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Timmy yelps, whipping his curtain back with just his head popping out.

 

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Armie admits all too quickly, dumbfounded and enamored to say the least.

 

Timothée rolls his eyes, blushing nonetheless, shy heat radiates off him and Armie can smell it, almost taste it in the roof of his mouth if he breathes in deeply enough.

 

“You scared me asshole,” Timothée quips, an embarrassed smile resting on his face. His cheeks still a hue of a peachy rose as he ducks back in his shower stall.

 

Armie quirks an amused brow, though he's flushed more than he’d like. His morning wood could’ve been avoided had Timmy not decided to go to the damn showers the same time as him. It’s **5:40** a.m. for Christ sakes.

 

He picks the shower six spots down from Timmy. It’s excessive but he’s taking no chances. He’d been in a rut only once before and it was strenuous to not just give in and leave his house and find an omega to deal it out with. Instead he’d taken pills for it for a full week to wane his symptoms to the bare minimum.

 

It’s completely different now. He’s older and not medicating his rut this time. He’s going to allow nature to take its course but he worries terribly he’ll mess it up somehow.

 

He doesn’t want to hurt Timmy. Emotionally _nor_ otherwise.

 

He’s heard many stories from alphas all over, even his own father.

 

“ _You’ll never really fuck an omega unless you make em bleed_ ,” his father once told him. He’d been only fourteen.

 

It still churns his gut the same way it had then. His father among his old male friends see omegas in a completely different light than him. They believe to step on, break down and destroy them. Armie always envisioned treating an omega soft, _sweet_. To cherish them and uplift. Not to hurt like his father did to his mother.

 

“Hey Timmy,” he calls, his throat dry but loud enough over the heavy spray of water.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What song were you singing?”

 

He washes himself with their cheap provided shampoo. It’s definitely generic with the waxy dry feel left on his skin.

 

He hears Timothée’s stiff shower handle squeal as it’s turned off, a loud metallic sound, then soft drips of water on the tile.

 

The smell of him is immediate, sweet and wet, no longer submerged in the scent of hard water.

 

He jolts when the shower curtain is tapped on.

 

“Yes?” he nearly yelps, cock twitching ashamedly against his leg as his pulse jumps.

 

“I made it up in my head,” Timmy answers simply, whisper soft. Inviting and Armie wants him to say more, to never stop talking.

 

Armie can smell and hear him so vividly it’s as if the omega was pressed flat against the plastic.

 

Armie doesn’t know what to say to that.

 

“Okay,” he answers dryly, letting the water wash over his face in distraction.

 

Then just like that he’s gone.

 

Armie gets a hand around the thick base of his cock when the sound of Timmy's steps disappear into the exit.

 

He clings pathetically to the shower curtain with one fist, remnants of Timmy in the air.

 

He can still smell him when he cums, spurt after spurt down the drain. It’s barely relieving.

 

/

 

That night Drew attempts to play cards with him. He tries to for Drew's sake but he can barely keep focus. His mind running off in forbidden places he can’t fully express to any ears.

 

He loses the first round and he quits pissily. He’s been on edge all day. Ms. H snapped at him for ignoring her draining speech about the forbidden rocks. He almost quipped back something crass enough to get his dad to rage hell all over Iowa if he found out. Thankfully to his good graces and preferred priorities he held back.

 

“I’m gonna go out, fuck around, maybe get eaten by a bear or something,” he states flatly, exiting the tent with the tension inside him becoming overwhelming.

 

Drew shrugs, turning away and lifts his notebook.

 

The night sky isn’t as cool as it had been last night. If anything it’s humid and complicated. A different vibe and atmosphere taking to the trees. The moon is starker, more grave and defined in its details.

 

He feels **_powerful_**.

 

There’s chatter in most the tents.

 

It’s a Friday night. Lively and fun and….

 

 _Waiting_.

 

He goes the only place his feet want to.

 

Timmy’s tent.

 

It’s lit up, but different. There’s sounds.

 

Sounds of lust and a soft, quiet tune.

 

Timmy’s mewls are barely audible, soft cants of breath.

 

The instrumental tune laced with his breathing is what Armie would imagine vibrancy to sound like.

 

“Timothée?” he says, voice just a whisper. His vocal cords are tight.

 

His heart beating like a pounding bird in his chest.

 

More mewls, soft, incoherent whines, then suddenly, a “ _please_.”

 

And Armie’s powerless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how you feel 😏💕
> 
> P.S. the song Timmy is singing in the showers is Blue Foundation - Eyes on Fire


	7. No going back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie decides to let the moonlight in.

A mantra of desperation, of pleas too painfully delicate to ignore.

 

  
The scent wafts through the lining of the tent. Warm, citrusy, Armie knows if he pulls the zipper there’s no going back. No stopping them, _him_ , what he could do.

 

  
“Please, please…. Please…”

 

  
It’s impossibly devastating the effect it has on him and he’s so still, barely touching the tent and he wants to devour Timmy whole.

 

  
He glances up at his calling. The moon blinks back and it’s seemingly as though the instrumental beat bumping off of Timmy’s discman player gets louder, more serene yet impossibly demanding.

 

  
Armie couldn’t turn around now even if the smallest part of him wanted to. The edge of worry in his gut is dulled. Adrenaline is simmering in his veins. All he has is his gut instinct and teenage luck to go off of.

 

  
He unzips the tent, so rough and fast he that he swears the lining on the tent makes a pulling noise. It barely registers to him though.

 

  
The air inside hits him and he’s fucked. Timmy’s slick is wildly strong in the air, so heady and distinctive. It’s all up his nose and he has to clench his eyes shut for a second to compose himself. His head’s panging with crucial need to just **_take_**. He’s fighting the urge to just pounce on Timmy, how eminently he just wants to turn him over, let all of his carnal motive to be in full control.

 

  
One look at Timmy makes him listen to his better side.

 

  
He’s shivering. Elongated thin and nude in the sheets. His legs are closed, any other last remainder of self decency is fleeting. He doesn’t bother to cover himself. All curled up, the absolute fragility of his ribcage glowing under the plastic candle light.

 

  
Armie’s heart and cock ache looking at him. He’s split between wanting to cover him up in a blanket and cradle him like a child or pressing those long legs apart and fucking him raw. It’s truly distressing and Armie can’t help but feel shitty. Neither he nor Armie picked this. For their body’s to go through an miserable inevitable cycle like the rest of mankind.

 

  
There’s only nature to blame.

 

  
It’s only when Timmy lifts his head to look at him, bleary eyed and flushed that Armie realizes he’d been still for nearly a whole minute like an idiot.

 

  
“Timmy?”

 

  
Timothée responds with a mewl, his thighs quivering like they are on the verge of parting and Armie really, really hopes that’s not the case because he wouldn’t have the capability to stop himself.

 

  
“Please, Armie, give me it, I need it,” Timmy cries, twisting in the sheets like that’ll give him any friction, “I need it so bad.”

 

  
His clock says **11:56**.

 

  
“You won’t regret it?” Armie can’t help but ask. He maintains a stern voice for an honest response. He pushes a flat palm against his erection, clenching his teeth at the immediate euphoria it gives him from the minute contact. He can’t even begin to fantasize about how palpable Timmy’s body must feel.

 

  
“I won’t,” Timmy tells him breathlessly, wide eyed and getting up on his knees.

 

  
He’s on him in seconds.

 

  
He grasps both wrists, caging them together with one hand and pushing Timothée backwards, settling him on the mattress simply.

 

  
“Don’t move,” he groans, it sounds like an order but it’s genuinely a beg. He’s got to be certain Timothée won’t regret this, that he won’t wake up in the coming hours and look at him different. He can already envision the disdain.

 

  
“Okay,” Timmy says, accepting Armie’s words submissively. His pupils are blown wide, black. The omega in him almost fully in the driver’s seat, but there’s still Timmy. Armie can tell from the gentle way Timmy touches his spine and the way he listens.

 

  
“It’s nearly midnight.”

 

  
“Nearly,” Timmy whines, lifting his naked hips to touch Armie’s clothed erection.

 

  
He pushes Timmy’s down by a tight grip on the top of his thigh.

 

  
“You know what that means, right? My rut… my rut's coming.”

 

  
Timothée lets out a whimper in distress, “I don’t care, I want it, I want you.” Timmy nipples are peaked. His body elevating in heat with every passing second.

 

  
He grips Timothée’s narrow little chin with two fingers, his thumb looking big against his baby doll face. He uses the leverage to force Timmy to look deeply in his eyes, press his hips down onto him and let him know he means it.

 

  
“I’ve never really experienced a rut before.. Timmy, I could really hurt you if I can’t control myself,” he sighs exasperatingly, closing his eyes because he can’t take the needy look on Timothée’s face anymore.

 

  
Timmy moans at that, spreads his thin legs around him. “I don’t care. Just fuck me, please…”

 

  
A pained grimace replaces the open expression Armie’s face. His body goes warm all over. It feels as if he’d been shot up with boiling water. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, all focus that he had projected on Timmy’s future emotions gone. All he can smell is his heat and he suddenly really needs to be quenched.

 

  
His needs are insatiable.

 

  
His wrist watch blinks _**12:00**_ and it smudges in his vision like a streetlight. He’s gone. His vision gone red in tint.

 

  
It’s only a second and he bites down hard on his neck. Timothée let’s out a surprised squeak, his body going bow tight.

 

  
“You’re hurting me,” Timmy cries out, but doesn’t fight it, instead he clings to him.

 

  
Armie releases the reddened flesh and breaths in deeply right there. It’s feral to the point that even Armie recognizes it.

 

  
“Do you know what I’m capable of now, Timmy?”

 

  
The air goes silent. Armie’s words sound deep and unsettling to his own ears.

 

  
“I.. I trust you.”

 

  
He bites down again, just as hard and sucks roughly. He’s adamant on leaving a hickey left in its wake.

 

  
Timmy lets him this time. He makes soft sounds, pleasure and acceptance dripping from within.

 

  
He hisses when Timmy’s fingers trail past his navel, following the trail of hair and into the tight waist band of his sport shorts.

 

  
Timothée is full of wonder, an almost childlike curiosity glows from his face as he finally wraps his hand around his base.

 

  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Armie hisses again, teeth bared as he roughly rocks into Timmy’s velvety soft hand.

 

  
He smacks a hand against the supple side of Timothée’s ass. He yelps, bites his lip and strokes Armie harder.

 

  
His hand trails the crease. Timmy’s all smooth there, soft like silk and he’s unbelievably desirable that Armie can’t believe he didn’t reach out and touch him sooner.

 

  
Once his thumb grazes his opening Armie’s left breathless…

 

  
“God,” he moans, feeling Timmy’s hand speed up invitingly on his cock, “you’re so goddamn wet.”

 

  
Timmy is. His little tiny hole flutters against every lingering touch, so sopping wet that Armie knows he must be so swollen and drenched inside…

 

  
Timothée eyes roll back in his head when Armie shoves his thumb in, all the way to the hilt in one push. His barriers and worries are diminished. He hadn’t only been mistrusting towards himself but also Timmy. Timmy was made for this and he can take just as much as Armie can give.

 

  
He believes in them both. The moon feels invited in through the open curtains.

 

  
“You can- you can put-“ Timmy begs, scrabbling at Armie’s shorts, rushing to get them down past his knees.

 

  
“Okay,” Armie interjects.

 

  
He lifts his hips, helping Timmy pull them down before flinging them off carelessly. He goes for his own t shirt next, easily pulling it over his head.

 

  
They are fully bathed in each other’s natural bodies. Both as bare as the day they were born. One look in Timmy’s fluttering, trusting green eyes makes destiny seem all that more real.

 

  
The alpha in him is howling, drooling to split Timmy open, mount him like their roles were made to. Though Armie settles on appreciating Timothée’s gentle beauty for a mere couple of seconds, watching his face observantly.

 

  
Timmy blinks slowly, glossy eyed and berry red lips mapped out on his face like an angel who’d fallen into the pits of Armie’s hands.

 

  
“You’re beautiful, and I don’t want you to _ever_ regret this,” Armie whispers gravelly. His own words tugging at his heart at the solid reality of them.

 

  
“I won’t,” Timmy replies simply, his lids heavy and graceful.

 

  
Armie leans down, his body encasing Timothée’s petite frame. He craves the little gasp that leaves Timmy’s lips when he kisses them, wants to swallow it down for no one but him to ever hear.

 

  
Both, in unison grip Armie’s base, like their minds are as entwined as their lips and legs.

 

  
**No** going back now.

 

  
Timmy goes docile as Armie pushes his hand away softly, let’s his shapely firm thighs go lax against Armie’s hips.

 

  
The head of his cock touches Timothée’s wet rim like fire meeting gasoline. It erupts a rumble from within Armie’s wide spread chest, his biceps straining to do this mercifully.

 

  
In tiny little motions he rubs Timmy’s snug little hole. It’s to help them both adjust to the foreign sensation on what’s yet to come.

 

  
Timmy makes serene noises. All low and caught up in his throat which is now tilted back, bared passively.

 

  
He takes one of Timmy’s grasping palms in hand.

 

  
The head of his cock catches on the rim, Timothée’s body does the rest of the work, pulling him in. It’s ethereal, the way Timmy’s built for this, made for him, hugging his head so lush and goddamn _tight_.

 

  
Armie grunts, cursing under his breath in disbelief. It’s earth shattering. He inhales sharply and his heart beat pulses and it’s a different realm of existence around him. Nothing but him and Timmy becoming one matters.

 

  
With slow rocks of his angled hips, Timmy opens up filthily and immaculate. Wet slick bathing his engorged cock inside the slim little bump of his tummy. All shaped out for this.

 

  
Timmy has a little wrinkle between his brows, pinched with a whine leaving from deep in his chest.

 

  
“Oh my God… oh my _God_ …” Timmy whimpers, finally looking down between them like he’s witnessing magic.

 

  
He touches the rise of his belly with an naive, otherworldly expression blown in his wide eyes.

 

  
“You’re inside me,” he says in disbelief, blinking up at Armie in a way that’s far too innocent, making Armie’s cock throb embarrassingly hard inside him. His lips cherry red from being bitten by his top teeth.

 

  
“Jesus,” Armie nearly laughs, “you can’t just say things like that.”

 

  
Timothée seems to notice the effect he has on him, a slutty look glazing in his gaze.

 

  
“Please alpha, make me yours.”

 

  
Armie groans defeatedly, he grips both of Timmy's thighs and shoves them up, tangling them around his shoulders. Timmy digs his nail in his forearm, his temperature rising between their sweat slick bodies.

 

  
He keeps their eyes locked as he makes the first rough thrust inside Timmy’s snug little insides.

 

  
Timmy takes it gracefully, whimpering his name and alpha under his breathe.

 

  
He holds him down. Trusting both their bodies to create magic.

 

  
/

 

  
The sun bleeds over the hills when Armie wakes up, sluggish limbs and sore all over.

 

  
Timmy is strewn half way on top of him, his upper half and leg settled on Armie’s abdomen. A little spot of drool on the side of his lip.

 

  
He yawns, stretching like he normally would. It jostles Timothée, making the boy turn away with an unconscious irritated noise and clings to the bed sheet.

 

  
“Hey..” Armie whispers, voice croaky and dry from overuse.

 

  
Timmy slowly blinks his puffy eyes awake, an unhappy wrinkle forming on his nose from the brightness of the sun rays shining through.

 

  
“Good morning,” he muses, not caring if Timmy finds him clingy as he snuggles up into his side, kissing his cheek.

 

  
There’s something in his gut that flutters. The air is like Timmy, warm and relaxing. Everything feels perfect.

 

  
After a moment, Timmy mumbles “morning.”

 

  
Armie rolls his eyes. They are totally different in the mornings.

 

  
He finds his shorts in a crumpled ball by the exit of the tent. He pulls them on sluggishly, yawning and letting his vision acquaint itself with the sun.

 

  
Timmy sits up, pressing at his eyes as he stretches.

 

  
“Put this on,” Armie tells him, tossing his shirt into his lap.

 

  
Timmy blinks down at it in confusion. “Why?” he asks, a crooked smile taking to his cheeks.

 

  
Armie gestures with his brows, “come on.”

 

  
/

 

  
It’s atleast three sizes too big for him, but it works like a dress.

 

  
Armie grins, holding him against his chest with both their toes dug into the gravelly sand.

 

  
“Why are we out here?” Timmy yawns, still tired with his curls untouched by a brush, all puffy and extra wavy.

 

  
“Just look,” Armie whispers, softly kissing his neck and clenching the blanket more tightly on Timmy’s frame.

 

  
They watch the lake before them, slow moving but _ever changing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter..... I hope you all enjoyed 😏💘 if you had any thoughts or questions I'd love to hear them. More to come 🍒💕


End file.
